Kings and Queens

“Mmm,” I woke up to Dustin kissing my neck, collarbone, jaw, and ear.

“Good morning,” he chuckled softly against my skin.

“Morning,” I moved my hand to his that was around my waist.

We hadn’t done anything more than making out that night and he seemed perfectly fine with that. A part of me wish he’d pushed me a tiny bit further, but at the same time I felt respected and like he might care about doing this the right way.

I had given in too easily and had sex too soon in relationships, done the one night stand thing, and had been a prude for too long and the guy had just given up. I didn’t know the exact amount of time to wait to have sex with a guy when you started seeing him, but I hoped that it would present itself and would work out this time. I really wanted it to anyway.

Dustin moved our hands so they were under my tank top, right next to my belly button, “I’ve been thinking about something.”

“And?”

“You and I should go somewhere this weekend,” he mused, “I’m off Friday through Monday and that never happens,” he said into my ear.

“And where shall we go Mr. Penner?” I played with his fingers.

“We could go to Disney Land, Malibu, Vegas,” he rattled off places.

“That sounds nice,” I turned over onto my back.

“So, where to Princess?” he smiled at me before giving me a sweet, closed mouth kiss.

“Surprise me, Flapjack.”

“I hate the internet and the guys right now,” he laughed.

I giggled as his lips touched my neck. He moved over me and switched to kiss the other side
of my neck. I was starting to get into the moment when he pulled away and looked at my
nightstand, “What’s this?” he asked as he put his hand on my notebook.

I was a little embarrassed, “A notebook where I keep lists and stuff,” I brushed it off.

He opened it even though I tried to snatch it away, “Babe, these are not lists,” he plopped
down next to me while holding the notebook over his head, “This is really good,” he said after a
moment.

I finally got hold of the notebook and took it away from him, “I took some creative writing
classes and it kind of stuck.”

He turned on his side and propped himself up on his elbow, “So you like to write?”

I nodded, feeling stupid for liking something that he probably thought was dorky. My sister had
made fun of me, my parents had told me I was going down another useless path, and a lot of our
friends thought it was boring when I would talk about it.

“That’s random,” he nodded his head as though he was trying to find the right words to tell me
it was lame, “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a writer; a reader definitely, but not a writer.”

“Well, I’m not a real writer,” I set the notebook back on the nightstand.

“From what I just read,” he reached over me and grabbed it again, opening it to the same
page, “You really could have something here.”

I watched as he read a couple more pages, “Lang, this is good.”

I blushed and moved my head so it was face down in the pillow. I heard the notebook hit the
floor on the other side of the bed and felt his arm around me. He kissed the back of my head, “I’m
such a loser,” I laughed.

“I’m impressed,” he moved my hair to one side and kissed my neck, “You’re good at
everything, aren’t you?”

I shook my head, still face down in the pillow.

“You are,” he whispered.

I wanted to cry. Growing up with demanding pageant parents who were never happy with
what you did, a little sister who could do no wrong in most people’s eyes, and being on my own for
so long had really made me independent and hard. I knew that deep down my parents did probably
support me, they just didn’t show it; Bridgette might give me shit sometimes, but she was supportive
and cared about me—and I gave her a lot of shit too—, but having someone tell me that I was good at something and sound sincere about it felt great.

Instead of continuing that conversation I moved my head from the pillow, “How’s your arm?”

“It’s fine,” he kissed my lips.

“Really, it looked pretty bad last night.”

“It comes with the territory,” he assured me.

I smiled at him, “My big, strong man.”

“Your big, strong man,” he even flexed his arm muscles as he lied next to me.

“Lang?” I heard Bridgette knock softly, “Did you steal Dustin’s car and bury him somewhere?”

“Get the shovel, I still have to bury him!” I yelled back and put my hand over his mouth to shush his laughter.

“Okay,” she yelled back, “Hey Dustin,” she barged through the door.

“So glad we weren’t naked,” I pulled the pillow from behind my head and threw it at her.

“Eh, not like I haven’t seen anything before,” she shrugged and sat in a chair across the room, “So, we’re happy now?”

I rolled my eyes, “How was Richie last night? Did you just get home?”

“I came home last night,” she raised an eyebrow, “Making me an aunt in that bed yet?”

“We could if you would leave,” Dustin pulled me into his side.

I pinched his chest and Bridgette laughed, “No! No babies until there’s a ring on that finger,” she stood up and started for the door, “Mike and Jeff are downstairs making breakfast.”

“Do they live here now?” I furrowed my brow, “I mean, is this a boarding house or something?”

“Or something,” she closed the door behind her, “They’re having sex!” she yelled down the
stairs and I heard Mike and Jeff laugh.

“Get it in!” Jeff’s voice called.

Dustin sighed, “Might as well give up and go downstairs.”

“There was nothing to give up on anyway,” I stuck my tongue out at him.